


More Than Enough

by hhaikyuuties



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, so here have some iwaoi, these two again, this is probably generic but i can't stop writing them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:11:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4320861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhaikyuuties/pseuds/hhaikyuuties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he knew Iwaizumi deserved so much more than him.  Deserved someone who could take care of themselves, could take care of Iwaizumi.  </p>
<p>But with each passing day, it grew more difficult.  Oikawa found himself slipping:  a sentence uttered a little too bitterly, an awkward laugh here or there, a stare at the dark-haired boy that lasted a moment too long, a twitch in his face at a drop in his stomach when Iwaizumi touched him unexpectedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jetpackcrows (starglowed)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starglowed/gifts).



> Dedicated to jetpackcrows--your descriptive writing makes me envious! I hope you enjoy this :)

“You really are like a mom, Iwa-chan.”

“Shut up.” Despite his tone of protest, his face was turning noticeably red.

“I bet you’ll want tons of those things won’t you, Iwa-chan?” he asked, gesturing to the children, his voice betraying only the slightest hint of bitterness, undetectable unless subjected to intense scrutiny. _Those ‘things’_ , he thought, _are something I could never give him._

Iwaizumi responded with a blank look before replying, with a shrug, “I’m sure I could handle it. One of you equals like six of them.”

“Iwa-chaaan! I’m more mature than them!” the setter whined, lips turning downward. But he knew it was a lie—he wouldn’t be able to take care of himself properly on his own.

“You’re taller and able to get into more trouble. Those are the only differences.”

“Wow. How rude!” Oikawa made a “hrrrmph” noise and childishly turned his head away from his friend, the scene extremely typical.

And so ended one of the conversations in a long string of small, seemingly insignificant exchanges that wore down on the protective layer Oikawa had developed to shield him, and his best friend, from the feelings that had developed without his explicit permission.

But both of them encouraged these emotions, albeit unintentionally, and suddenly Oikawa had realized his well of feelings was far too deep, too vast, to fill—the dirt and rocks he would throw in would just sink to the bottom, the water level rising.

***

“He sees me as a kid. Not as a potential lover,” Oikawa lamented to his older sister. She gave him a slight roll of the eyes, her long, dark eyelashes outlining her gorgeous eyes, her perfect hair cascading off a shoulder as she cocked her head at him.

“What happened to all that confidence, your bravado? Your attitude that everyone sees you as a potential lover?”

“I can’t lie to myself about Hajime. Everything is different with him.” He glanced down as he spoke. In that moment, his sister looked every bit the confident, beautiful person he pretended to be, and he looked exactly the kind of person he tried to cover up.

“I think that you are just blind because you’re scared. That boy would do anything for you.” Her words were strong but undoubtedly imbued with kindness for her younger sibling.

“That doesn’t mean he loves me the way I love him.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Stop whining.” She hit the back of his head, smacking it with her palm. “Start seducing.”

“What?!” Even Oikawa, who rarely showed his surprise, looked visibly shocked.

“I’m joking. Trust me, you don’t need to do that. Not that I’d stop you if you wanted to try.” A smirk danced around the corners of her lips, making it obvious that she was unmistakably the boy’s relative.

“If I tried doing that, he’d get pissed off at me for acting like my slutty self.”

She laughed loudly. “Oh, Oikawa, you are NOT slutty. You act like you are, but look at you, all head over heels for your best friend and at a total loss.”

***

“Come to think of it, you haven’t had a girlfriend in a while.”

Oikawa laughed humorlessly. “They would just break up with me after a few weeks anyway.”

Iwaizumi appraised Oikawa’s face and then shrugged. “You prioritize volleyball. That’s your choice. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

_It’s not just volleyball that I prioritize over those girls,_ Oikawa thought.

“Maybe if you’d stop watching really bad alien movies in your pajamas during your free time…” Iwaizumi muttered.

“What was that?!” Oikawa’s voice was mock-offended, but Iwaizumi’s words called to mind a picture that was a compilation of many memories and countless evenings: Oikawa sitting on his sofa, knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes excitedly trained on the bright screen as Iwaizumi lounged next to him, face skeptical until he grew drowsier, his critical expression melting into something gentler and half-asleep, his head slowly falling to land on Oikawa’s shoulder.

***

And it was those casual touches that came to be what he regarded as his oncoming downfall. No barriers between either of them, guards down and facades left at the front door. Shoulders touching, hands brushing when one of them stole the popcorn or the remote from the other, the normality of stealing the other’s soda and throwing pillows in faces, the simple ease of Iwaizumi ruffling Oikawa’s hair and Oikawa poking Iwaizumi’s arm.

And it was these instances, unspeakably common and all-too-natural, that made the line between them vague not only to onlookers, but sometimes to Oikawa himself. The boundary could be broken so easily, in a second, with a number of different words or actions, but the potential outcome horrified the boy, no matter how picture-perfect he looked when you passed him on the street or when he worked his hardest in a difficult match. Oikawa was constantly afraid of being inadequate—and above all, he couldn’t stand to disappoint Iwaizumi or to put distance between them. Iwaizumi held him together in so many ways, and however selfish it was, he could not bring himself to sacrifice their friendship. And he knew Iwaizumi cherished their relationship as well—and how could he break the perfect balance they had, just over some extra feelings he found himself with?

And he knew Iwaizumi deserved so much more than him. Deserved someone who could take care of themselves, could take care of Iwaizumi.

But with each passing day, it grew more difficult. Oikawa found himself slipping: a sentence uttered a little too bitterly, an awkward laugh here or there, a stare at the dark-haired boy that lasted a moment too long, a twitch in his face at a drop in his stomach when Iwaizumi touched him unexpectedly.

***

Iwaizumi half-tackled him to the floor, leaning over the other boy as he looked at him with frustration.

Oikawa’s brain short-circuited.

Sure, it was just Iwa-chan getting aggravated with him, accompanied by the typical pushing and wrestling that had been part of their relationship for as long as either could remember, but there was something in Oikawa’s mood that was off that day, some kind of emotion that had found its way into his veins on that particular afternoon, that made him notice everything more than usual, heightened his senses. The sharpness of Iwaizumi’s eyes that still fell short of being hurtful; the slight downward pull on his lips at the setter’s antics; the warmth of his calloused hand on Oikawa’s skin; the toned shoulders and strong grip that, if relentless, could’ve broken his pale wrist.

“Shittykawa,” he half-growled. Oikawa looked at him somewhat blankly, no snarky retort leaving his lips.

“…Oikawa?” Iwaizumi tried, his lips pulling into a deeper frown and his eyes growing gentler but gaining wariness.

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathed. Shock crossed the other’s features, fingers twitching on Oikawa’s wrist. The only vocal response was a sort of “hmm?” sound that somehow managed to vibrate in Iwaizumi’s throat.

Even Oikawa didn’t know what was to follow his utterance. And he managed to get ahold of himself before anything else slipped past his sensors and past his lips.

He laughed awkwardly, the sound coming out obviously forced. “Nothing. I’m just a bit tired.”

Oikawa knew it would seem suspicious to Iwaizumi—he rarely let on when he was worn out or exhausted, always pushing himself to his limit and beyond, and kept up appearances almost always, even in front of his childhood friend.

Iwaizumi sat back up, allowing Oikawa to return to his original position.

“Did I do something?” the darker haired boy asked, his hand scratching his head in his slight nervousness.

“No. It’s not you,” he replied lightly. _It’s me. It’s always me._

***

“Something is going on! You even used my _given name_ the other day. Don’t try to convince me this is your usual. Because it’s not. Maybe I can’t always tell, and maybe it’s subtle enough that I sometimes trust you aren’t hiding something, but there is definitely something up, and I don’t know why you are not only keeping me in the dark, but think I _belong_ in the dark, when I’ve always been there for you, Oikawa, and I can’t believe you think I will just let this go and—”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chocked out, his face still holding a semblance of normality through sheer willpower, “some things people have to figure out on their own.”

Iwaizumi didn’t quite know what to say to that.

Oikawa’s expression cracked slightly. “And yelling doesn’t always help me figure things out.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi sighed, his face morphing into something borderline apologetic, “you’re just scaring me a little.”

“There you go, acting all parental again on me.” The joke was forced, completely devoid of the usual humor, its counterfeit nature blatantly visible.

“I’m not your parent. I’m your friend. I’m your closest friend, I’ve been your friend for a damn long time, and I know you better than anyone else, so I think that gives me a little bit of a right to be worried. Is that not true?” His words seemed slightly angry, or maybe even hurt, but he uttered them remarkably calmly.

Oikawa felt guilty as hell. _There’s no winning. I hurt him no matter what._

And he looked guilty, too, and he knew it.

“What’s eating at you?” the other asked after a few moments, his voice, face, eyes, presence all gentle and calming and the embodiment of their deep friendship.

“Me,” the setter looked downward, capitulating, “I can’t properly control my own emotions.”

Iwaizumi looked at him in modest confusion, waiting for more.  
He took a deep breath. “Could you do me one favor, for my own completely terrible and selfish reasons?”

“Don’t I always?” the other replied, but there was no bite in his words, and all promise.

“Kiss me.” It wasn’t a question or a demand. It was a request that bordered on a prayer.

Oikawa expected to hear his words echoed back, or at least observe a furrow of eyebrows, but instead the other’s lips were on his own in half a heartbeat, hand on the back of the taller boy’s head to pull his face down slightly.

And it was gentler than he even knew Iwaizumi could be, containing none of the wariness or disgust or aggressiveness he had anticipated in the dozen scenarios that had flashed through his mind.

And Oikawa was greedy, thoughts of _I’m already screwed_ and _I already know I’m manipulative_ running through his head, so when Iwaizumi pulled away by the first couple centimeters, the warmth and feeling dissipating far too fast for Oikawa to handle, he kissed Iwaizumi back.

And Iwaizumi didn’t stop him. But Oikawa did pull back after another moment, guilt catching up to him, horror starting to turn the hot feeling cold with its icy presence.

He couldn’t read Iwaizumi’s expression, which, for once, was carefully and purposefully controlled.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Oikawa asked in a small voice.

“So I have to tell you what I’m thinking, even though you refuse to tell me what you’ve been thinking for weeks.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa let out brokenly. “Hajime. I. Love. You.” He looked away. “Is that good enough now? Now that I’ve said it, and can’t take it back?”

“That sure as hell isn’t enough,” the other replied, making Oikawa’s eyes snapping back to focus on Iwaizumi’s face.

“Because now, I want everything.” Iwaizumi’s voice was low and quiet, an admittance both to himself and to the boy in front of him.

“What?”

“You told me you love me. And you’re right, you can’t take it back. Because I won’t let you. And since you asked for a favor, do I get one in return?”

Oikawa felt like he was in a river during a storm, unsure of his direction and confused by all of his surroundings.

He didn’t reply, so Iwaizumi continued, “Answer my next question.”

“Okay.” It was barely a whisper.

“I’ve probably loved you since before I even understood properly what that meant, so why the hell are you so scared?”

A frenzy of emotions passed over Oikawa’s face—he could feel them showing. After a moment, two emotions dominated: doubt and hope, the two ends of a spectrum inseparable.

But he trusted Iwaizumi more than anyone, especially himself, so he allowed his faith in his friend to take over.

“You’re telling me you’ve been secretly in love with me for how long and didn’t tell me?” Oikawa finally managed to half-croak, the question having a trace of his usual humor but fell far short of his typical playful teasing, his tone slightly incredulous. But something like hope shone in his eyes.

Iwaizumi looked to the side, embarrassment tinging his face. “I show it in everything I do for you and in everything I say; how did you not know?”

Oikawa laughed, genuine. “How could I ever think I was enough for you?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked up, suddenly serious. “Tooru,” he breathed, “you are more than enough; you are more than I could ever ask for.”

And that was all Oikawa needed to hear.


End file.
